


Anything For Her

by clarasimone, HouseofTheBear



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bath Sex, Cunnilingus, Erotica, F/M, Fellatio, Mirror Sex, Oral Sex, Passion, Passionate Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 18:50:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20822126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarasimone/pseuds/clarasimone, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouseofTheBear/pseuds/HouseofTheBear
Summary: When Daenerys discovers Ser Jorah standing guard in the shadows while she bathes, she must decide how to deal with his trespassing… while our Knight must learn to voice out his deepest secret.





	Anything For Her

**Author's Note:**

> This 4-hand tale was conceived as a relay race between the two authors, Houseofthebear writing the first part, and Clarasimone the second, with a night lost to sweet slumber dividing the two. This one-off offering is set in a GoT AU universe while Daenerys and Jorah are still in Essos.
> 
> Our most gushing thanks to chryssadirewolf for the beautiful artwork !

Daenerys settles back against the warm, curved stone wall of the bath, sighing as the heated water begins to ease the tension in her muscles, the soreness in her feet. Here she is not a Queen, she is just Daenerys, a woman savoring the quiet serenity of twilight. A soft breeze blows in through the arched portals overlooking the city, ruffling the sheer red drapes and bringing the light, sweet scent of roses to her nostrils. It had been a trying day, several requests for audiences and many meetings had taken up her time, giving her little opportunity to eat, or seemingly, just breathe. Now she can...and she savors the silence, the peace. The only thing occupying her mind now is thoughts of her loyal Knight, steadfast by her side. Most of his day had been spent standing and she feels for him even as she knows he would stand for days if she asked it of him. A soft smile curls her lips at the thought of him...and the sight of him as well. Years have passed since their first meeting, but his appearance has changed little. A bit of grey at his temples and in his beard, a few more lines at the corners of his gentle blue eyes, yet he is still as handsome as he was all that time ago.

A sound, like the scrape of heel on stone, drags her from her musings. She searches her surroundings but sees nothing. At first. Then, there, by the stone pillar. A figure. But how? Her guards would never have let anyone unwanted pass.

“Show yourself,” she calls, her voice strong and clear. There is a pause and then some steps free of the shadows, her eyes widening, “Ser Jorah?”

He says nothing, his eyes downcast.

“Why were you hiding?” Still no reply. “Answer your Queen, Ser.”

“Forgive me...Khaleesi.”

This is beyond Jorah's normal behavior and he skirts her query with an apology, but for what, he does not offer a reason. Daenerys feels the dragon in her rise. “Approach, Ser.”

Only now does he meet her eyes and does as she asks, with slow, measured steps that echo in the vaulted stone. He stops, awaiting his assured punishment. The day had been long and arduous, and Daenerys has no patience for Jorah's actions. She had escaped to the baths for their tranquility and seclusion, for she had considered seeing to her needs to ease any lingering tension. But now, she reconsiders. Her Knight is faithful to her in all things, any service she has asked him he has done without question. Perhaps she will have him see to this intimate need now too.

“Ser, you are aware that watching your Queen while she bathes is a transgression that cannot go unpunished.”

“I am.”

“Undress Ser and join me in the bath.”

“Khaleesi?”

His expression would almost be comical if not for the situation, her Knight seems truly shocked at the order, even as his gaze is still endearingly averted. So she repeats herself, “Undress, Ser and join me.”

She speaks slowly, using her 'Queenly tone' as Tyrion refers to it, and that seems to rouse him from his shock. He is not wearing his armor, a fact Daenerys only realizes now, but he is still wearing his sword and he removes that first, setting on the low bench nearby. Yet nothing else seems to matter as his broad chest is bared to her, muscles shifting and flexing beneath his faintly tanned skin. He doesn't hasten his movements and perhaps her face gives away what her body is feeling, the warmth tightening her belly, her sex slickening. His breeches drop and she cannot stop her lips from parting, nor the traitorous dart of her tongue wetting them. If Jorah notices, he doesn't let on. He is masterfully formed, her throat suddenly as parched as the deserts of Essos. He steps down into the bath, the water engulfing first his feet, then his leanly muscled calves and thighs, his proudly jutting manhood, and finally, the lower half of his flat belly. He seemingly glides to her, his gaze locked on her eyes, her sex clenching at what she is about to ask him to do.

“Stop,” her words having their intended effect. “For your punishment, Ser, I ask a service of you.” She rises, the water sluicing over her breasts, yet still concealing her femininity. That is, until she lifts herself onto the ledge, her thighs parting as she rests her feet on the edge of the bath. His eyes give Jorah away, the hunger tangling with adoration and it only makes Daenerys feel even more powerful. She reaches over and takes half of a lemon from a small clay bowl; she had been using them to accent the water. But now she has other ideas. Holding it just above her chest, she squeezes the ripe fruit, letting the juice dribble onto her skin, feeling the coolness roll to her hardened nipples and drip from them onto her belly. “Do you not like lemons, Ser?”

Jorah accepts her veiled invitation, moving between her legs, his tongue gathering the tart liquid with long, wide swipes. _Perhaps this is a mistake_, Daenerys thinks, her body quivering as his mouth latches onto the hard point of each breast, suckling the little berries, each pull tugging at her pearl, making the ache there worse. Leaning back on her hands, she fixes him with a gaze that no longer hides her desire. “Pleasure me...Jorah.”

She sees the rough roll of his throat, but he doesn't make her wait, his hands caressing the outer curves of her legs slowly. With one last glance, he reverently dips his head and places the softest of kisses first just above her curls, then below, his nose nuzzling them as he draws a deep breath of her scent, his low groan resonating through her entire being. He cradles the curve of her hips and begins his worship, for that is how it feels, the first blissful sensations have her arms shaking. The way his lips and tongue work in seamless perfection, it is as if her Knight has a compendium of knowledge on a woman's pleasure to go with his acumen of military strategy and combat as well as political counsel. The tip of his tongue dips down to her entrance, slipping inside, gathering her hot slippery dew, only to draw it up to her aching pearl. She cannot watch any longer, the muscles in her body refusing to support her. She collapses back onto the drying cloth she had smartly left folded by the bath, her hands free to roam, to grasp, to anchor. And one does, tight in the curls at the back of Jorah’s head, the other cupping and kneading her breast, her thumb and forefinger teasing the dusky, turgid peak. A rumbling groan like distant thunder reaches her ears, her eyes opening and looking down, meeting the fevered, darkened blue gazing back at her from between her wantonly spread legs.

The tight coil in her belly begs to be undone, her words breathless, “Please, my bear.”

Her secret endearment for him slips out and the beast in him answers, a growl reverberating through her pearl, his tongue ever willing to fulfill his Khaleesi's desires. He flicks it faster, harder, her lower body surging against his face, her moans shifting from soft and quiet to low and husky, echoing off the stone and tile. She doesn't care who hears her, the pleasure so sweet, so _good_ she cannot contain her praise. A thick finger glides into her honeyed core, her walls pulsing, coating it further, the curling pressure finding a secret treasure hidden within. She arches and presses down into the digit's measured thrusts, blissful flames beginning to dance along her skin. Somewhere in her mind she knows only Jorah could create a fire that would consume her.

And she wants nothing more than to burn in it.

He adds another finger, pumping them a little faster, as if he knows her body's desires, its needs, so close to the end. Her breathing deepens, her thighs drawing close to his head, eyelids too heavy with sensation to remain open. His name rises in her arched throat as a soft cry of abandon, a warm wave cresting within her, spreading through her trembling body, her core throbbing with each gentle, easing motion of Jorah's tongue, each lingering coax of his fingertips, willing her body to give her every last bit of ecstasy.

It is only when she whimpers that he draws away with a parting kiss to her sensitive folds, his eyes bright with satisfaction and a hint of pride. She allows him that, his prowess clearly evident. His beard glistens in the low light, his lips too, his tongue darting out for one last taste.

A lazy, sated smile curls her lips, her body too relaxed to move just then. Jorah doesn't seem to mind, his hands caressing her hips, her thighs, following the silky curves down to her feet, his thumbs pressing into the soles, though they no longer ache. In fact, she feels as though she is floating, and she sighs happily. Jorah's low chuckle at her state has her cracking one eye partially open. “Is it exactly as you wished...my love?”

“It was perfect,” she answers with a grin, his amused sound growing into laughter. They had never indulged in role-play before, but it had turned out to be quite a lovely and satisfying experience. She cannot help the giggle that bubbles up inside her, one that ends in another happy sigh. She tries to rise, but her limbs are uncooperative. Jorah notices and moves to her, lifting her easily in his strong embrace. Her arms wrap around his shoulders lazily, her face nestling in the crook of his neck. The water is not as warm as it once was, a tiny shiver wracking her form. “Let me get you warm, my love.”

He starts to walk toward the steps, but she makes a sound in protest, her head lifting to look him in the eyes. He recognizes that mischievous glint instantly, his Khaleesi has further plans for him. “Perhaps I may not have revealed my entire fantasy.”

Jorah's eyebrow quirks, awaiting the rest of what lies ahead for him. She slips from his arms, her renewed desire giving her the strength to stand. “Sit there,” she orders in her queenly voice, gesturing to the top stair.

Without hesitation or further question, he does, watching her with thinly veiled curiosity. Daenerys moves toward him slowly, each step revealing more of her gorgeous curves, his eyes moving leisurely from her breasts, down her womanly belly to the top of the water, which barely hides her silver curls. His manhood twitches at the sight of her, his goddess of passion and love, his Khaleesi, the queen of his heart.

Her nostrils flare at the subtle movement of his thick appendage, a clear bead of desire shimmering at the slit. “Daenerys--”

“Did I give you leave to speak, Ser?”

There is a hint of playfulness in those sultry violet irises and Jorah settles into his role. Before today, they had never engaged in such games, Daenerys assuring him that alone in their chambers they are simply a man and woman in love. No titles, no societal structures. But the prospect of serving her in this way again, as her Knight, arouses him more than he had considered it would. And it appears the feeling is mutual. She gracefully straddles his lap; however, she keeps her sex poised above his straining hardness. He moves to wrap his arms around her, but she seizes his wrists and bears them to the stone, holding them there. “Did I give you leave to touch me, Ser?”

He swallows roughly, “No...Khaleesi.”

Her eyes flash and her chest swells in victory as her posture takes on its familiar regal quality. Leaning in, she breathes over his ear and hums in satisfaction as Jorah trembles, his body already struggling beneath her dominance. “You are right to call me Khaleesi, Ser. For I will only ride the most powerful and majestic of stallions.”

Her tongue darts out to trace the shell of his ear, her teeth nipping the lobe a bit harder than usual. His arms tense, but then he relaxes, his head tilting in surrender. And she takes it, with soft kisses, teasing licks, and gentle bites. She marks her Knight's flesh, just above his collarbone, a faint red mark that will be gone by morning. But it has its intended effect now, his body shuddering beneath her, his head tipping back more. Her resolve to keep him silent crumbles, she needs to hear him. “I give you leave to speak, Ser.”

Her Knight does not squander his opportunity. “I am your stallion, Khaleesi. I am yours to ride whenever, and however, you wish.”

_By the gods_, Daenerys thinks, her sex clenching at his gravelly declaration, at the obvious meaning in his words. Perhaps conceding some of her power had been a mistake, Jorah’s voice has always set her heart beating a bit faster. But she had discovered when they were alone, entwined beneath the furs, that her love's voice became even more like the sigil of his house. He only speaks erotically when she asks it of him, and when he does, it increases her need, and pleasure, tenfold. And she wants it from him now. “Tell me, Ser, when you were watching me in the bath, what were you thinking?”

Her lips are so close to his he feels as much as hears her request and he would never disobey his queen's inquiry. “You were-,” he gulps as her tongue follows the contours of his rolling throat, “like a water goddess, your beautiful tresses floating about you. I pictured lifting from the water and carrying you to a bed,” he groans, her mouth suckling at the tender spot just below his ear, his body quaking beneath her, “laying you down and kneeling between your legs so I could worship at your altar.”

Daenerys cannot help her sigh, her legs weakening enough so that her sex glides over to the tip of his manhood, the sensation enough to have them both moaning. But she recovers quickly, “I may have mischaracterized you, Ser. You may be my stallion, but you are more so my bear.”

He growls and strains against her, giving her a glimpse of his namesake. “And your bear hungers only for your sweet honey.”

“Do you wish for a taste, Ser?”

His eyes spark, “Always.”

She dips her hand beneath the surface and down between her legs, gathering some of her copious slickness and bringing it to his waiting mouth. He encircles the digits, his eyelids fluttering, his deep, wanton moan vibrating through her hand as his tongue swirls and circles, the echo of the sensation pulsing in her pearl. Her hips jerk of their own volition and Jorah cannot help the flash of triumph in his passionate gaze. Daenerys curses silently at her lack of restraint with this man, Jorah is a formidable force when he sets his mind to _anything_. After all he has the strength of ten mainlanders contained in that tall, broad frame of his. One which she now caresses with her hand, following the lines and planes of lean muscles, the jagged edges of his numerous scars, the springy fur leading to that glorious hardness rising from the water. She draws her fingers from his mouth, a low whine following them, a near pout tugging at his lips. She clicks her tongue at him, “So very needy, Ser.”

His eyebrow arches, but he falls back into character, “It is a fault in my nature, Khaleesi. Whatever punishment you deem fit, I await.”

“No punishment is necessary, Ser.” Then she tilts her head, her eyes falling to his ruddy crown, “Well, perhaps a little more..._teasing_.”

Her fingertip brushes the length of the silky underside, his hips lifting into her touch. His utter surrender is intoxicating, his hands have been free of her restraint for some time now, and yet, they have not moved. 

“Khaleesi…please,” he whimpers, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles are white.

She no longer has the heart to tease him and she stands, her fingertips brushing along the length of him one last time before she says, “Join me, Jorah.”

He takes her hand and walks with her to a secluded alcove just to the left of the baths. He had never noticed this place before, its entrance hidden by dark red velvet drapes, one side tied back. Inside, brass lanterns hang from the atrium, the colored glass creating shifting prisms of light across the walls. Those are also glass, but composed of stained shards loosely depicting the sea, the sky, roaring fires and sweeping plains, dense forests and majestic mountains. Such a small space for such grandeur, but it is beautiful nonetheless. And the perfect place for their intimacy.

A large, circular lounging bed lies before them dressed in silks of red and black, sumptuous pillows piled high. Daenerys lets go of his hand and climbs onto the cool bedding, arranging some of the pillows into a smaller pile in the center. She lays atop them, her hips lifted into the air, offering her body to him and his perusal. His nostrils flare, the sight of her glistening center has him unconsciously licking his lips.

“I discovered a library here in my wanderings. It has the most fascinating volumes,” she says airily, propping her head on her hand, the other beckoning him to join her on the mattress. He does, kneeling at her feet. “One was particularly _arousing_. I wish to try what I saw...if you are willing...my bear.”

They are man and woman again, no more games or play-acting. Jorah knows the volume she speaks of: a guide of sorts to advanced techniques of pleasure and forbidden carnal delights. He had never viewed the work with his own eyes, but he had heard it referred to in crude conversation by other men. If they were to be believed, every woman at the pleasure houses knew its contents like the back of her hand. He had no experience with this, nor would he ever, his heart and his body steadfastly loyal and belonging to one woman for the rest of his days.

“I am, my love, you need only tell me.”

“Straddle my thighs, just below my bottom,” she instructs, watching Jorah's face as the realization washes over him.

He does not hesitate, though, the heavy weight of his cock resting on the cleft of her soft roundness, its silky length hot and faintly throbbing with his quickening heartbeat. When Daenerys asks him to take her like this, he never lasts long. A side of himself he always tries to keep caged surfaces, almost completely overtaking the gentle, tender part, leaving only the bear. She knows this, if her coy smile is any indication. But she trusts him implicitly, he would never push things too far, would never hurt her or abuse her trust for his selfish gain. She is free with him, safe in her confidence, surrendering herself to him.

However, he will not give in just yet, instead, he gathers her damp hair over one shoulder and leans forward to bestow kisses to the back of her neck and as much of her spine as he can reach. She arches into the touch, loving the rasp of his beard in juxtaposition to his soft lips, the wet brush of his tongue along the bones. He caresses her back, taking his time, skimming the contours of her ribcage, pressing his thumbs into the dimples just above the swell of her bottom. She pushes back into the touch, her cheeks stroking his cock, a whimper filling the air. Jorah does not have the capacity to tease his love the way she does to him, he only ever wants to give her pleasure, so he guides himself to her entrance and slowly slips into her until his groin is flush with her, a sharp, loud gasp leaving her lips, her hand reaching back to grip his forearm hard.

“Love,” he breathes, his voice strained, “did I hurt you?”

He shifts to withdraw, but her hand moves to his tense, muscled buttock, “Gods, don’t you dare move. I just...need a moment. You are quite endowed, my bear.”

His concerned expression softens, his lips pressing gentle kisses to her shoulder and neck. They have never made love in this variation of this position before, but he is aware now of the differences, how this change from the usual way will likely increase Daenerys' pleasure. He is willing to do whatever she wishes to give her that. That is not to say that this new position does not have something for him to savor and enjoy. The beautiful expanse of her pale back, the gorgeous roundness of her behind lifted to him, soft and warm against his skin. And if he were to gaze down, he knows what he would see. Her darkened intimate lips encircling his girth, their bodies joined as their souls already are. The thought alone has his cock twitching within her, her head turning to look at him over her shoulder, her violet eyes dark with yearning. Never in all his days has a woman gazed upon him the way Daenerys does and his heart swells as much with love as it does with masculine pride. He remembers when they consummated their love, how he had worried she would be disappointed at his scarred, aged body. But there was nothing of the sort in her admiring gaze, only desire and love.

He sees it again now, only this time, there is a hint of wildness in her eyes. He has seen it before too, when her need for him eclipses all thought and reason, when her body craves the man in him, not the Knight. He starts slow, her head tipping back, a soft moan escaping nearly every time he reaches his limit within her. Her slick heat clenches around him, like a velvety sheath for his sword, holding him impossibly tight, as if she wishes to never let him go. His sac is already snug to his body, he knows he won't last. His hips roll through his thrusts, each bump of her bottom sending lightning up his spine. Her passionate cries are unrestrained, her hands grasping at the silk sheet. She urges him with words he has never heard her utter before, her voice contorted by fierce hunger. She is every bit the dragon beneath him, magnificent and powerful, brimming with passion only a bear could tame.

“Be the bear for me, Jorah,” she growls, “give your dragon what she needs.”

This side of her always awakens something primal in him. He leans back, his hands grasping her cheeks, parting them just enough so he can watch. He discovered Daenerys' secret desire for this only a short time ago, and though she had blushed as she watched him watching his body disappear inside her, her eyes flashed with heat, her hips lifting to him.

As they do now, needing more, her arm moving under herself to tease her pearl.

His hips snap forward, the sharp sound of skin meeting skin echoing within the stained-glass chamber.

He can feel the first soft flutters of her impending release rippling along his shaft, his own threatening to usurp hers. He presses down into each swift, hard plunge, her head tipping back with a high cry of '_yes_', the crown of his cock stroking that special place. His eyes drift to her face, such a heavenly sight, her delicate features beginning to contort with rapture. It is nearly his undoing when he looks down once more, her honey seeping downward to where he can barely see the tips of fingers working furiously against her little pearl, her sweet nectar clinging to his short curls, wetting the skin of his sac. He moans low, almost guttural, a sound that resonates in Daenerys on an instinctual level, her sex seizing tight around him for a glorious instant before it pulses along his length, desperate for the gift of his seed. He thrusts once more, his hips stilling, his essence leaving his body, his soul, in long throbs, leaving him gasping for breath and utterly spent.

He catches himself on shaky arms, his sweat-dampened brow resting on her shoulder. His panted puffs of air heat her already feverish skin, safe and sated beneath him. She turns her head, his already lifting to meet her lips in a tender, lingering kiss. He slips from her and collapses at her side, reaching over to draw her close. She snuggles into him, fitting perfectly against him, her leg coming to rest across his hips.

“Forgive me, love,” he says, his fingers tucking under her chin to lift her face to his, “It was over far too soon.”

“Oh, my sweet bear,” she soothes, her thumb sweeping over his jawline. “Sometimes I desire you that way. You are always so tender, so gentle, it is all right to let go once and a while. Is it somehow different for me? That at times I take you almost selfishly, but you are forbidden from giving in to your passion?”

“No, Daenerys,” he hurriedly assures her, “I simply wish to take my time pleasuring you.” A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, “I quite like when you are ravenous for me.”

“Then you understand,” she echoes his expression, her head coming to rest on his chest. He draws her closer, pressing a kiss into her tousled, still damp hair.

They lay for a while, enjoying the feeling of oneness in each other’s arms, before slowly drifting off to sleep.

***

The night is just relinquishing its dominion when Jorah awakens. The sky is turning pink and chirping birds outside the tower are greeting the new dawn. _Softly now_, he thinks, so as not to awaken his Khaleesi. His strong frame is now ensconcing that of Daenerys, spooning her, and he smiles to himself before delicately kissing her silky mane… and then, because he can’t help himself, the skin at the nape of her neck. She smells of damask roses and love, and he feels blessed. For years, he loved her in silence, and from the shadows, perfectly willing to remain in that state, but one day she looked at him with new eyes and he stepped into the light, taking the hand she offered. He still doesn’t dare spell out the rapture that ensued.

_Let not words break the spell, unless they be music to thy heart_, one of the poems says. Those Daenerys asks him to read by the fire. She’s kept the books he gave her on their first meeting, when he sealed his fate with just one look at her. She was forced into marriage that day to the formidable Drogo. But it was _he_, Jorah, who was wearing the cape Westorosi men don on their wedding day to wrap around the shoulders of their betrothed. His grey cape even matched the grey chiffon of her billowing dress. Did she feel him perform the ritual in his mind? Because, from that day forward, he never left her side, and he knows he’s been a truer husband to her than the one her brother forced upon her.

Lost in thought and shifting, ever so slowly, so as not to wake Daenerys, Jorah raises himself on one elbow to better contemplate her. The Queen of his heart is sleeping with her mouth slightly open, her full lips begging to be kissed, but she is out of reach. He’d be sure to wake her if he dared turn her more fully towards him to claim her mouth, so he sighs imperceptibly and settles for the smooth roundness of her shoulder. Her skin feels cool there and his warm breath makes the invisible hair on her arm stir. She sighs in her sleep and Jorah holds his breath for a moment. He doesn’t want his love to wake just yet, he wants her all to himself, his eyes and soft kisses taking note of every freckle, every subtle mark on her skin to remember her by while they’ll be apart during the day. She on her throne, he by her side, a few feet behind. But a world apart.

As her steadfast Knight, he is hers, always, in every waking minute of their lives but she cannot be his in the same manner. She is a Queen after all and needs to rule, and rule she does, steadfastly, justly, without tiring. But in her chambers, she is a woman, and she has chosen _him_, to love exclusively, and it still amazes him. Yet the way she looks at him proclaims that this is so. Sometimes, stolen glances while she holds court take him by surprise, and he has to cast down his eyes, smiling bashfully, for fear his felicity will shine for all to see. She loves him, and gives herself freely, and so, indeed, there are times when, in his heart of hearts, Jorah dares whisper to himself that she belongs to him. Looking in her eyes, as they make love, he cannot say the words, but he can voice them in his soul: “You are mine.” _You are mine, forevermore, _when, in the throes of passion, and at her request, he sheaths himself deeply, making her cry out his name. _You are mine, and mine alone _when, hearing her ask for more, he obliges, swearing under his breath from the blinding pleasure, lost to a frenzy equal only to the all-consuming love he feels for her.

Jorah has never known such burning passion and the Gods know he is willing to die for his dragon love, his very own Khaleesi. He knows this as sure as he is now breathing her scent and brushing his mouth on her skin the way priests put their lips to sacred texts. With awe and reverence. And so, she is also his when, in moments like this, he can worship her without her knowing, before waking, before the day insists she be a Queen and not a woman in his arms. And how he relishes these stolen moments.

The brightening dawn is now tinting their alcove all shades of apricot and pink, the sun rays filtered by the colored glass, while the light seeping in from the open windows glows on the polished bronze surrounding them. It makes Daenerys’ skin and hair shimmer, stealing Jorah’s breath away and rekindling the soft fervor with which he kisses the nook of her neck, letting his fingers trace their way over the curve of her form, and down the jutted bone of her hip. His breath comes a bit quicker then and his loins stir. Cursing himself, he tries to shift his body away but Daenerys purrs in her sleep and presses herself on the warmth of his hardening manhood. Feeling the cleft of her cheeks snuggling his quickly thickening shaft makes him sigh and a low rumble escapes his throat.

“Jorah?”

_Damn,_ he thinks to himself, smiling on her skin, _these stolen moments never last_.

“Go back to sleep, my love, I shall keep morning at bay.”

Cooing and stretching, Daenerys has other plans though and she smiles into his eyes when she turns to him; her violet irises full of mischief and love. She presses her naked body to Jorah’s and, feeling her soft belly against his manhood finishes to stir the beast awake. Hers as much as his.

“I love it so, to be brought out of slumber by your desire, sweet Ser.”

Her lips are brushing his now, and her fingers softly feeling the length of him. A hungry rumble. Lips seeking fuller ones. Gruff teasing the much too tender skin. And the tip of a tongue demanding to be let in. Sweet, soft, low sighs and growls shifting the air of the alcove. These are a known and sweet prelude, until…

“Oh! I dreamed of you!”

“Khaleesi?”

“Yes… Oh!”

Daenerys is suddenly wide awake and pulling slightly away from Jorah to peer inquisitively into his perplexed but amused blue eyes.

“Jorah Mormont. Ser! I believe you are keeping secrets from me.”

“I would never…”

“Oh! but you are, and how dare you!”

A low chuckle escapes Jorah’s throat, amused by his love’s sudden change of tone, and he brings Daenerys closer to soothe her, and kiss her, his strong arms fully circling her while his hands slip into the thickness of her silver hair to bring her beautiful face to his.

“Am I truly to be made responsible for that which I cannot control while you are lost to slumber? Tell me about this dream.”

“Well… We were making love…”

“Yes…”

“And… Jorah! Are you listening to me?”

“I am, my Queen.”

But he isn’t, not really, until Daenerys bites his bottom lip to stop his intoxicating nibbling. Which he does, for a second. Before starting again, forcing Daenerys to weave her tale amidst the teasing of lips and tongue.

“You were taking me…”

“Deliciously?”

“Yes. Like the bear…”

“That I am.”

“Yes, the way you did last night… and how wonderful that was…”

“Mmmm…”

“But also, like the other times, whenever I arch my back to you…”

“_Driving me wild_,” he whispers on her skin.

“Because I want you to and want you so.”

“Yes. But never as much as I desire you, my Queen.”

“Well, let’s not argue over det--... Jorah?...”

“Yes! I’m still listening, my precious love.”

Daenerys sighs then because Jorah is rocking her gently, holding her body tight. One of his hands is still lost in the silky thickness of her hair so her head cannot escape his kisses long, while the other is caressing her back, up and down, but mostly down now, his opened hand pressing against the small of her back to make sure she won’t stop the swaying of her belly on his shaft. It is so hard now, so erect, it stands between them like a long sword! And though Daenerys is adamant about telling Jorah of her dream, feeling him like this does make her core throb softly, in tune with his rocking. And she can feel it now, the sweet opalescence coating her secret lips, waiting for his fingers or his tongue… All of this is making their conversation _very _difficult.

“Well, it… during my dream, I got quite upset with you because it dawned on me, my love, that it is quite unfair that you should see what I cannot when we make love. I am your Queen after all.”

Jorah interrupts his kisses to look at Daenerys but his eyes are still twinkling. “Khaleesi, I assure you, when you ask me to pleasure you in this fashion, all I see is beauty.”

The look Daenerys throws him then makes Jorah smile. It appears he isn’t going to be let off the hook quite that easily. So, he kisses her very softly before whispering, “When I take you like the bear, Daenerys, your body before me is like a cup my hips cling to so I may drink to my heart’s contentment.”

“Oh? Ohhhhh…”

Daenerys likes the analogy. Very much so, if her snuggling even more to him is an indication. Yet…

“And what else, pray tell?”

Jorah’s lips part in surprise, words failing him suddenly. He is not prepared to tell her what even he dares not tell himself out loud. But Daenerys is kissing him now and, of course, he will relinquish. Her beautiful eyes are mesmerizing him when her lips leave his for a moment, and her hand, closing around his gorged manhood makes him want to submit. How warm and velvety her caress is, stealing his breath away, while she purrs to elicit more confessions out of him. And so Jorah speaks again, his voice dropping an octave.

“The curve of your rump…”

“Yes?”

“…and the dimples, just over the swell of your cheeks, on the small of your back…”

Jorah is speaking haltingly, to the rhythm of his love’s embrace. She is making him harder still. And he can tell, by her quickening breath, just how aroused she is too.

“Those Venus dimples… _which I would cross the desert on foot to kiss, my love… _make you look like a Goddess come to tempt me from the underworld of Old Valyria…”

“And tempt you to do what, my Knight?”

Jorah’s breath catches then, his words waiting for Daenerys’ fingernails to end their run under his shaft. His cock is twitching in her hand like a beast alive making him confess further, his voice a raspy and emotional whisper.

“You look so very much like a heart, then, my love. _A heart I spear, to claim your very soul.”_

Daenerys whimpers then, her breath shaky, and her secret lips, so moist and swollen, come into contact with Jorah’s taut shaft, the sudden wetness sending shockwaves through his body. He closes his eyes then, savoring the bolt of pleasure and Daenerys takes advantage of his temporary lapse to push him on his back and straddle his thighs, leaving his magnificent cock exposed to her gaze and offered to her ministrations. Opening his eyes, Jorah smiles in awe at the beauty of the goddess before him, her shallow breathing making her breasts heave, and the sunrise illuminating her milky form against the richness of the darker curtains closing off their alcove. How beautiful she is, cupping the tender globes of her breasts, a little moan escaping her lips as she pinches and rubs her hardening nipples, as if trying to tame the ache she feels there. Jorah wants to cradle her to him, but he doesn’t dare when next she speaks, using her queenly voice.

“My Knight, I want to know more. You know you must obey me. I want to know everything!”

She parts her lips and her eyes fall slowly to his tense length, making it stir up again, as if reaching for her.

“Your cock is aching for my touch, is it not, Ser Jorah?”

_Gods, when she talks to him like that!_ Instinctively, Jorah falls back into the role-playing fantasy they indulged in last night.

“_Yes,_ Khaleesi.”

“Like this?”

Jorah watches as Daenerys puts one fingertip to the droplet seeping through his exposed crown and then delicately twirls it round its shiny skin and rim; her other hand seizing the heavy shaft and lifting it away from his contracted abdomen to better caress it. His cock is so large in her _petite_ hand, her touch so soft and yet so possessive, Jorah feels himself suppress a moan. He throws his head back, his whole body contracting, and his sex pushing forward before he can stop himself, completely offered.

“Will you tell me more then, sweet Ser?”

_Oh, what more is there to tell?_ His breath wavering, Jorah opens his eyes again and looks at Daenerys, the silent question making him part his lips. She obliges him then.

“I’ve seen the feral look in your eyes when you take me like the bear. I love it so. Tell me what goes through your mind then…”

_No, he can’t_… but when Daenerys lowers her mouth to his throbbing cock, Jorah tenses once more and he lifts himself against the pillows.

“Love, you don’t need to…”

“Ser, are you forgetting yourself? A queen never _has_ to do anything…”

On those words, and with a regal smile, Daenerys kisses the tip of Jorah’s crown, and then, looking up at him, she parts her full lips very slowly, and lets them glide down the generous swell. An obscene moan escapes Jorah’s mouth then, and one of his arms grabs the nearest bedpost. Daenerys repeats the sweet motion, her tongue adding pressure to her caress, its soft and wet expanse caressing the roundness of the taut globe, and the underside of its rim, all the while humming her contentment at Jorah’s reaction, until, taking pity on him, she retreats, licking her lips, victorious.

“When you part my cheeks, my Knight, what do you see? Tell me.”

His heart racing in his chest, Jorah wavers looking at Daenerys approach her mouth once more to his flesh, waiting for his answer, her eyes locking on his. What sweet torture is this? He must answer.

“_My… my cock.”_

His words are rewarded by Daenerys’ lips gliding once more on his waiting crown, in a gentle sucking motion_… _ spurring him on.

“My cock pushes its way in…”

Daenerys hums her contentment.

“Straining your tender lips, so swollen, and… _Gods! Daenerys, I…”_

“Shhhh now, now, sweet Ser, there shall be no interruption of your tale!” 

Though she interrupts hers, after every swirl and kiss.

“And no pleading!... Or, I shall stop… altogether… Is that what you want, my Knight?”

She smiles at him then, a bit wickedly, knowing full well the answer, and she swoops down once more, the tip of her tongue picking up the new pearl forming at the mouth of his cock. _Will you tell me more?_

Breathing through his nose, like a beast in agony, Jorah does not have the strength to pretend he doesn’t want this; her mouth on him. His voice is so deep when next he speaks, it sounds foreign to his ear, but it makes Daenerys’ sex clench:

“Khaleesi, as I take you, your sex is dripping honey… Dripping sweet, lustrous, slivers…”

Much like the saliva and opalescence escaping Daenerys’ mouth, the vision making Jorah’s hand tighten its grip on the bed post. …Gods, the way she is pleasuring him!

“And so my cock can now taste the sweetness which my mouth feasted on just before… My shaft glistens with it… And I fear…”

Swallowing hard, Jorah stops for a second, as one of Daenerys’ hands leaves his shaft to find its way between her thighs.She knows what this does to him, seeing her caress herself. But she does it anyway, adding to the torture, all the while never breaking that glorious, elegant sucking. His Queen looks at him then and he has to continue.

“I fear… my girth may be too much for you. But you are moaning so, my love, and meeting my thrusts and… _Daenerys please, I can’t. Stop, I won’t last…”_

So, Daenerys does stop. But:

“We’re almost there, sweet Ser.”

She speaks softly, just slightly out of breath, her hand not hiding the pleasuring of her pearl.

“Just a few more secrets, a few more tender _licks_… and I’ll free the bear!”

_Oh Gods, please, yes…_ Regally, Daenerys takes Jorah in her mouth once more, readying herself for her Knight’s final confession. Which he takes up again, closing his eyes. Daenerys’s caress is making him growl and he can’t help slightly pushing his cock forward in her waiting mouth, the muscles on his abdomen contracting with every slow rocking movement of his buttocks, the muscles there as hard as his shaft.

“You meet my thrusts. You… impale yourself on me, taking your pleasure from my body, driving me wild.”

Closing his eyes won’t do, it just exacerbates the pleasure he feels coiling up. So, he opens them again… on that beautiful mouth, taking him a bit more deeply_._ _Gods!_ Jorah rips the sheet he didn’t know he was holding so tight. It’s the only thing giving him the strength to finish his tale through his labored breathing, because Daenerys does not relent. And he tells her _everything_.

“And as I grab your hips to bring you to me… driving my cock hard into you, I come, Daenerys… I come looking at my shaft throb its release… telling myself that it is _I _claiming you in this fashion… and that you…_ you belong to me_... Ughhhh, Daenerys!”

Growling passionately, Jorah frees himself from Daenerys’ embrace and he lifts her in his arms, crushing her to him, making her gasp in surprise before taking her lips, the kiss almost smothering them both until he pulls away, panting. Daenerys speaks then, concerned she may have pushed him too far.

“Jorah, I…”

But her Knight quiets her by putting his fingers to her mouth gently and resting his forehead to hers to catch his breath.

“You want to see, my love?”

Oh, how amorous and deliciously dangerous Jorah's deep voice feels to Daenerys just then.

“Shall I show you how my cock claims you, how your honey makes it glisten?...”

Closing her eyes, Daenerys nods, her sex pulsating and riding the waves of every word Jorah utters, while his hands dig into her skin, crushing her to him, his lips on hers again between his hot whispers.

“Shall I show you how _hard _you make me? …And how lusciously creamy I can make you?”

One more word, and she will climax! But Jorah pulls her to the bed, and they tumble in a position where, lying side by side, her back to him, she feels him raise her upper leg, and hold it in the crook of his arm. Before she can say anything, Jorah has her head turn towards him for another hungry kiss, and his burning cock pulsates next to her glistening entrance. Her Knight is so hard then, and his crown so slippery as it kisses her secret lips, he could easily just invade her and fill her to the hilt. But he doesn’t.

“Open your eyes, love.”

She does and Daenerys sees that they are facing one of the bronze mirror shimmering in the rising sun. The sight of them in this position steals her breath away. In the reflection, Jorah’s beautiful blood-engorged cock is gliding slowly on her exposed sex, from her lips to her pearl, teasing it, and teasing itself. Jorah looks along with Daenerys, their eyes meeting in the mirror. Such pride, desire and lust in her Knight's blue eyes, turned dark like the stormy sea. A delicious shiver runs through Daenerys’ body and she sighs, joining in the dance, rocking her own body to meet the hardness of Jorah’s cock and smear it with honey. The sight excites them both and Daenerys’ whimpers Jorah’s name, curving her limbs to let him know where she wants him now. Her Knight wastes no time understanding. His fingers pressing the soft flesh of her thigh, to anchor his next move, he exhales hard as he plunges into Daenerys’ waiting core, the generous girth of his shaft stressing the rosy flesh yet gliding in, the honeyed path welcoming his hardness, slowly, and by increments, so as not to hurt her. Her breath catches, but she lowers herself on his shaft, looking at it penetrate her. She wants it and he wants to give it to her. It feels so good, their joining like this, their eyes meet again in the mirror, and they both moan when he reaches her limit.

“Jorah…”

“I know my love. Look, this is what I see… and this is for you!”

And on these words, Jorah ceases to peer in the mirror, leaving Daenerys the sole spectator of their love. He buries his face in the nook of her neck to kiss her there, hungrily, while his rock-hard cock slowly moves in and out under the wet pearl which he knows she is caressing anew. He growls on her skin while she looks, transfixed, at the beauty of their lovemaking… and how handsome and powerful Jorah appears to her as he takes her like this. Every time he pulls out only to plunge back in, Daenerys whimpers her approval, the sight of him multiplying her pleasure. The sight of her too, how her desire shines, iridescent, on Jorah’s darkening member. She is so wet for him. Jorah feels it, _hears_ it, and it makes him curse incoherently, lovingly, next to her ear, his teeth nibbling and biting her tender flesh. Her senses over stimulated, Daenerys finds herself countering Jorah’s thrusts to feel him penetrate her more quickly. She wants to see him harvest more sweetness out of her, and she pleads for it too, the ravishment she knows he is capable of. And so, Jorah complies, his breath a sexy grunt to the sound of his Khaleesi whimpering for _more_ and _faster_. He picks up the pace, making them both moan out loud… until Daenerys turns her glance from the mirror to kiss him.

“Deeper, I want it deeper, my love.”

Those are the words the bear needs to appear! Peering into Daenerys’ eyes, Jorah lifts her thigh a bit higher, and she understands what is coming. The deep penetration, the kissing, hard. And Jorah lets her see the lust in his eyes as he rams into her again, harder and faster, taking his pleasure while obeying hers. And, Gods! How this makes his dragon cry out as she turns once more to the mirror to see the ravishment unfold, her fingers punishing her swollen pearl. Jorah’s beautiful shaft is reaching all the way in, to that special place in her core that makes her flutter and throb. She is desperately purring her acquiescence now, reaching that glorious point of no return, just as her eyes see the white creaminess of her pleasure coat her lover.

“Jorah, with me... now!”

Daenerys's regal voice as she climaxes makes Jorah roar his submission, his “_Yes, Khaleesi!” _a vocal bending of the knee that makes him come so violently, Daenerys instinctively cradles his head, slipping her fingers through his ginger curls. Tears well up in her eyes as she pulsates, her core tightening round her Knight’s pounding shaft. How he still has the force to hold her thigh high enough for her to contemplate the finale is beyond her, but she does look and what she sees sends her off again: Jorah retreating just enough for her to see his upper shaft seizing in powerful, involuntary jerks at her entrance, the pounding of the blood there so clear, while his seed erupts into her.

So it is that they both cry out in the end, greeting the morning, and Jorah only has the strength to gently let down Daenerys' leg before collapsing, his arms encircling his love as if to never let her go...

“_Khaleesi, my Queen,” _Jorah pants, “_my one and only Queen...”_

_“My love!” _Daenerys fervently whispers as she turns her head to kiss her Knight.

“You were right, do you hear me? And you may say it proudly: _I am yours _Jorah_, _now and forever.”


End file.
